


The Case of the Creeping Man

by pizarra



Category: Merlin (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Established Relationship, Holmes Brothers, M/M, Third Holmes Brother - Freeform, merlin holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:59:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2151603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pizarra/pseuds/pizarra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Pendragon asks Sherlock Holmes and John Watson for help. Sherlock agrees to consult on the case. And then a tall young man arrives, throwing them off the loop.<br/> <br/>“Arthur.”<br/> <br/>They all turn to the doorway to look at the newcomer. He’s a tall young man, as tall as Sherlock, slender, with dark wavy hair, blue eyes, and high cheekbones. He actually reminds John of—<br/> <br/>“Brother dear, how lovely of you to join us,” Sherlock says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Creeping Man

**Author's Note:**

> My non-Merlin watching friends often remark how Colin Morgan and Benedict Cumberbatch totally look alike. And then one finally suggested, "Why don't you write a fic about it?"  
>    
> I, of course, turned the suggestion over and over in my head. I have always been a fan of Sherlock Holmes even before the TV series, and there's one story in particular that I like, _The Adventure of the Creeping Man_ , and I knew that it's the perfect case fic to introduce Merlin as the Third Holmes Brother.  
>    
> If you haven't read that story, I strongly recommend it. If you don't want to, well, this story doesn't veer far from it. Also, please take note that some lines are lifted directly from the Original Holmes Story, so you might see similarities. I have tried to rephrase them as much as I can, though.  
>    
> I make no profit from this. Also, Merlin and Sherlock Holmes, their characters and names do not belong to me. If you see any problem, please don't hesitate to contact me. Thank you for reading!

# The Pendragon Problem

 

It’s late in the afternoon, and John has just arrived from the clinic. Sherlock is sitting in his usual chair, wiping down his violin, but John can tell that his mind is somewhere else.

“Ah, John.”

Sherlock’s greetings stay the same, one part absentminded and one part whimsical. It never fails to make him smile. He walks over to give the tall man a kiss, which deepened as Sherlock winds a hand through his hair, pulling him closer. John rolls his eyes as they pull apart. Sherlock never fails to announce his possessiveness when they’re together, even in the simplest of ways.

“What took you so long?” Sherlock asks as John takes his usual seat.

“A consult turned into an emergency. We had to take the poor young man to the hospital for a surgery.”

“Hmm. What do you think of the uses of dogs in the work of a detective?”

The non-sequitur makes him raise an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure studies about that topic is extensive. Bloodhounds, K-9 units. Why, are you thinking of getting one? I’m certain a dog’s not necessary. I mean, your nose can detect even the slightest hints of perfume on my jumper despite my being drenched in the rain.”

Sherlock glares, making him smirk. A patient had fainted in John’s arms that day, then heavy rain fell on his way home. One sniff of John as he was passing, and Sherlock wanted to know who the “damned woman” was. The argument that followed forced John to leave the flat, much to Sherlock’s displeasure. The detective found out where he was in two hours, and quickly apologized. John has forgiven him, but he certainly likes to remind Sherlock of what a jealous clot he can be.

“No,” Sherlock says, dragging the letter N out. “But dogs reflect the family life, don’t you agree? Happy families have happy dogs, and rabid dogs only follow their master’s angry personalities.”

He nods. “That makes sense, in a way. Dogs reflect how they’re treated.”

Sherlock jumps onto his chair in excitement. “Exactly! Which brings us to the question: why does Doctor Uther Pendragon’s wolfhound, Hengroen, endeavor to bite him?”

John frowns. “Pendragon? As in famous physiologist Uther Pendragon?”

Sherlock nods dismissively, wanting to get to the problem quickly. “Yes, yes. Him. I’ve seen him in the papers and on the telly. He’s firm, but not unkind. And he is also staid, especially with his students.” John nods as well, knowing Pendragon’s reputation. “So why would his wolfhound, a beloved friend and companion, attack him more than twice now?”

He shrugs. “The dog is rabid.”

“Maybe.” The detective drags the first letter again. “But then he attacks no one else, just his master.”

John opens his mouth to offer another suggestion, when the doorbell rings. Once.

“That’s him,” Sherlock says, jumping back down to sit properly.

“That’s him? Uther Pendragon is here?”

Sherlock gives him an irritated look. “Of course not, John.”

Before the detective can say anything else, the door opens to reveal Mrs. Hudson and a tall, blond man in his late 20s. He’s wearing a business suit, with a carriage of a royal or someone who has seen the world and given everything he could ask for.

“Mr. Holmes?” the visitor asks, extending a hand to Sherlock. “Arthur Pendragon. We’ve corresponded via email?”

Sherlock rarely shakes their clients’ hands, so it comes as a surprise to John when he extends his own hand to the younger Pendragon before directing him to a seat. Arthur Pendragon then notices John and raises an eyebrow.

“This matter is very delicate, Mr. Holmes. Consider the position of my father in academia. I don’t want this to show up on the blog.”

John raises an eyebrow as well, but Sherlock just pats his knee twice before resuming his own seat. “I assure you that John is the soul of discretion. And not every case ends up on the blog, if you must know.” Sherlock smiles.

Arthur Pendragon watches Sherlock for a couple of seconds before shifting in his seat. “If you’re sure, then…very well. Does Dr. Watson know the, uh, situation?”

“I was just about to tell him.”

The young man nods, waving a hand for Sherlock to continue.

“You know Uther Pendragon, John?”

“I have heard of him, yes. Professor of Physiology in Cambridge, great thinker. His research and studies often come up in medical journals. Widower, fine reputation.”

Sherlock nods. “Good. Well, a couple of months ago, the sixty-one-year-old professor became engaged to Ms. Nimueh McDonaghue, only daughter of Dr. Bayard McDonaghue, professor of—“

“Comparative Anatomy. Yes, I know of him,” interrupts John.

“Well, Ms. McDonaghue is of young age—“

“Younger than me,” Arthur Pendragon interjects.

“Twenty-one years old,” Sherlock confirms. “And it appears that Dr. Pendragon is smitten. He’s wined and dined Ms. McDonaghue much like a young man would, and promptly proposed after only three months of courtship.”

John shifts in his seat. “So, the young lady’s parents are opposed to the relationship?”

“On the contrary,” Sherlock says, giving that smile of amused interest whenever a case is intriguing. “Dr. Pendragon’s family is.”

Arthur leans his elbows on his knees. “Look, we thought it was rather…excessive. She’s quite young, and it’s not like she’s lacking in suitors who are within her age range. But we worry about his behavior as of late. He’s become aggressive, snarling at people who are vocal about their disapproval of the relationship. It’s not natural. It’s like…he’s become an entirely different person.” Arthur runs a hand through his blond hair before continuing. “Then, a week after the engagement, my sister Morgana called me to say that Father has left home and didn’t tell anyone where he’s going. Father never does that; he always tells us if he’s going somewhere. I called his TA, George, but he also didn’t know where my father went. When he returned two weeks later, both George and Morgana report that he’s…changed. ”

“Changed how?” John asks.

“Furtive, sly,” Arthur shrugs. “He never alluded to where he’d been. We only found out when a friend of George emailed him to say that he saw my father in Prague, but didn’t get a chance to talk with him because of his classes. He’s also told George that if a letter came from London marked with a cross under the stamp, then that letter should not be opened by anyone but my father. And that’s not even the weird part. My business is in Cardiff, you see, but when my sister told me all of this, I went home for a weekend to see for myself, and perhaps talk to Father about it. I was in the library one day, looking for a pen, when I picked up a box with a lock. I don’t know what it was or what was in it, but it looked foreign. Then, my father came out of nowhere and snarled at me for taking the box. My father may be a strict man, but even in my most rebellious years, he never raised his voice at me. Suffice it to say that I was shocked. It was merely a box, after all. And after that, I was rankled and I noticed that he kept on glaring at me throughout the weekend. He’s acting vicious and almost violent.”

Then, Arthur pulls out a small notebook from inside his suit jacket. “Then, George gave me this. He’s taken notes of the days that my father has become increasingly violent or short-tempered, and the instances of each incident.” He passes the notebook to Sherlock.

Sherlock opens the notebook and mumbles. “Says here, July 2nd, you picked up the box, then that night Hengroen attacked him as he came from the library into the hall. July 11th, another attack upon Dr. Pendragon’s right leg, then another on July 20…” Then Sherlock smiles wide, something in the notebook must have increased his interest because he suddenly exclaims. “Fantastic! Completely and utterly fantastic!”

“What? What have you found, Mr. Holmes?” Arthur asks, standing now in agitation.

Instead of answering, Sherlock shakes his head. “Give me the rest of the story. I believe something else happened to you?”

Arthur frowns. “What? What do you mean?”

Sherlock glances at Arthur’s hands. “The silver ring on your thumb. You’ve been twisting and turning it ever since you arrived. Obviously, you’re agitated about something. If it happened to your sister or to the TA—George, was it?—then they would be here instead to tell the story. Or they would be here with you. But no, you came alone, so something happened that you has gotten you scared. Or more probably, something that would scare your younger sister.”

“Yes,” Arthur replies slowly, “how did you know that my sister is younger than me?”

“Your keychain is peeking out of your right pocket. It’s a small, fluffy rabbit. You’re gay, but you are not the type to dress like it, so it’s improbable that you bought that keychain for yourself. Neither did your partner because even though you’re not hiding your sexual orientation, you’re both young professionals making your way into the world. So, it’s a gift then, from a younger female who’s very close to you. If it were a cousin or a friend, you wouldn’t even use it. Now, tell me everything else.”

“How did you know that I have a partner? Hell, how did you even know I was gay?”

Sherlock steeples his hands and places them under his chin. “That’s irrelevant. Now, please, tell me everything else.”

Arthur glares at Sherlock at the dismissal before continuing. “You’re right; I didn’t want to tell my sister. I was able to take some time off from work to visit my father. I stayed in my old room across the hall from his bedroom. I was lying awake in bed at around two in the morning when I heard a dull thud in the hallway, so I opened the door to check. It was dark, with the only light coming from a window—“

“The date being?”

Arthur’s glare only increases in intensity at the interruption, but answers nonetheless. “August 7.”

“Continue.”

“I saw something creeping along the passage, something dark and crouching. When it passed by the window, I saw him. It was Father, on his hands and feet, with his face sunk between his hands, crawling on the floor. I thought he was looking for something, but when I asked if I could help him, he just sprang up, and spat out that I should mind my own business before going downstairs. I tried waiting up for him, but I fell asleep.” Arthur sighs, looking out the window of the flat. “No crime has happened, so it’s not like we can go to the police. But both my sister and I—well, the entire household—feels like we’re heading towards disaster if we let this carry on.”

“It certainly a curious and suggestive case. What do you think, John?”

Before John can speak, the door bangs open, and a girl jumps straight into Arthur’s arms. Both Sherlock and John stand up.

“Morgana! What’s happened?” Arthur exclaims.

“Arthur, it’s horrible! I couldn’t stay there any longer!”

Arthur pulls away from the young lady, brushing long dark hair away from her face. John sees a beautiful girl with pale skin, in her late teens, green eyes wet with tears as he looks up at her older brother. She’s carrying a brown leather backpack.

“Shh,” Arthur says, “Calm down and tell us what happened. This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, by the way.”

Morgana nods, but doesn’t offer a hand. Her arms are shaking and she’s clutching at Arthur’s shirt. “Last night…Hengroen was barking furiously and it woke me up. I—I’ve started sleeping with my door locked since Father…you know. Anyway, the dog woke me up. It just so happened that the blind on my window was up, and I can see the light from the streetlamp. I was staring outside, hoping to fall back to sleep, when Father—“ The young girl cries.

“Hey, hey, Morgana, it’s alright. Tell us the rest.” Arthur rubs his hand in circles on his sister’s back, calming her.

“It was Father,” Morgana continues. “One minute, I was staring at the streetlamp, next he was there, staring back at me. I was so frightened, I couldn’t even scream. He had his face pressed against the glass, and he was snarling, and his hand was on the windowpane as if he wanted to get in. Oh, god. I was so relieved that the window was locked! I mean, it was so scary! What if he’d been able to open that window?” She takes a deep breath, then continues. “We stayed like that for about twenty seconds; me, paralyzed, him staring in, then he vanished. I was so afraid, I couldn’t look out the window. He might have stayed outside, you know? So, I waited until morning, then I packed a bag, and then just told the housekeeper that I was going over to Linda’s. And I…I went here because you said you’ll ask help from Mr. Holmes.”

“It’s August 16,” Sherlock says.

“Yes,” Arthur growls. “Mr. Holmes, do you think that the date has anything to do with what’s happening with my father?”

Sherlock glances at Arthur. “Yes, Mr. Pendragon, but not in the way you think. It’s not involved with the phases of the moon or anything absurd. It seems like every occurrence happens exactly nine days in between. However, that’s all I have right now. I need more data.”

The young man nods. “Very well. I can ask George to keep taking notes. And I’ll bring Morgana to Cardiff in the meantime or allow her to stay here with the housekeeper. It’s summer, so I don’t think my father will oppose. We can say that I’m treating her to a holiday.”

Sherlock nods as well, then steeples his hands under his chin. “And Merlin? What does he think of this?”

John is about to ask who Merlin is, when he notices that Arthur has gone stiff. Even Morgana is looking up at her brother in confusion. “How do you know Merlin?” Arthur demands. “I haven’t mentioned him—not once—during our conversation.”

It is clear that Arthur is both suspicious and angry, but Sherlock doesn’t look the least perturbed. “Ah. My apologies. I wasn’t aware that he hasn’t told you.”

At that, Arthur steps forward, simultaneously shifting his sister behind him. Gearing up for a fight, John notes. “Told me what?” he growls out.

“Arthur.”

They all turn to the doorway to look at the newcomer. He’s a tall young man, as tall as Sherlock, slender, with dark wavy hair, blue eyes, and high cheekbones. He actually reminds John of—

“Brother dear, how lovely of you to join us,” Sherlock says.

 

# The Youngest Holmes Brother

 

Arthur whirls around to face the newcomer. “Brother? Merlin, what’s going on? What are you doing here?”

Merlin steps into the room. “Arthur, I’d like for you to meet Sherlock Holmes, my brother. Sherlock, meet Arthur Pendragon, my boyfriend.”

“Wait, wait,” John interrupts. “Brother? You’re Sherlock’s brother? You’re a Holmes?”

Merlin lifts his shoulder a bit. “Well,” he says, and John notices the similarities now. That’s the exact way Sherlock sounds when he’s been caught lying.

“Brother?” Arthur repeats, still staring at Merlin. “You’re Sherlock Holmes’ brother, and you never even told me?”

“It never came up.”

The reply angers Arthur even more. “It never came up?”

Sherlock snorts. “Really, Merlin, you’re twenty-four years old, and you’re still rubbish with your excuses. And you,” he turns to Arthur, “Merlin and I share the same surname, and we’ve been told we look very much alike. It’s not that big a leap, honestly.”

“I just assumed that it was a coincidence.” Arthur mumbles, before rounding on Sherlock once again. “That’s how you knew I was gay? He told you about me?”

The detective rolls his eyes. “Of course not. Merlin takes pride on his ability to cut himself off from his family. No. I made it a point to _know_.”

This time, it’s Merlin who snorts. “You mean Mycroft has surveillance on me and shared the information with you.” Before Sherlock can speak, Merlin turns to Arthur. “Look, Arthur, I never told you because I didn’t know how to tell you. When we were in uni, Sherlock is already making a name for himself. I kept quiet about it because I didn’t want to be asked about it. About _him._ And then he died, and…Much like why you built your business in Cardiff instead of London or Cambridge. You didn’t want to be associated with your father.”

“That’s different. I never lied to you about my family.”

“Frankly,” Sherlock intrudes, “this is getting quite boring.”

John is about to scold Sherlock, when Merlin does it instead, his voice hard. “Sherlock, you knew I never told Arthur. You _wanted_ to make trouble. And now you have it. So, it is for your own good that you _shut up_.” To Arthur. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. And I didn’t lie, I just omitted some things. I mean, I’ve introduced you to my mother and father.”

“Wait, Mummy and Daddy know?” Sherlock asks, his eyes glaring at his younger brother. John smirks, knowing that Sherlock doesn’t like being kept in the dark, despite his penchant for doing the same.

“Of course, they know! Arthur and I have visited them once.”

“Sherlock, Sherlock…”Arthur murmurs. Then his eyes go round. “So, he’s Sherl?” he asks, pointing at Sherlock. The detective looks scandalized at the nickname. “He’s the brother who blew up your kitchen and who got grounded for it?”

“Yes,” Merlin grins, and Arthur does the same.

“Hah!” Arthur looks at Merlin, still smiling, and reaches out a hand. Merlin steps closer, giving the blond a kiss.

“I’m forgiven, I take it?”

Arthur appears to think about it, then says, “We’ll talk more about this later.”

As Merlin gives Morgana a hug in greeting, Sherlock rolls his eyes. “If you’re quite done, we still have the matter of Dr. Pendragon?”

“No, you don’t,” Merlin disagrees.

Arthur sighs. “Um, actually, they kinda do. Merlin, try and keep up.”

“No, they don’t. I’ll take care of it.”

John joins Arthur in raising his eyebrows. “You’ll take care of it?” John asks.

Merlin nods.

“Wait, _you?_ ” Merlin turns to look at him, and John notices now that Merlin’s eyes are quite similar to Sherlock’s, both clever and observant. “I mean, you’re…what I mean to say is that you _know_ how to do it? _You know how to deduce?_ ”

Merlin rolls his eyes at him. “You’ve just come from the hospital, and judging be the way that your right shoe has been stepped on, you took the tube instead of a cab and had a scone as you walked from the station to Baker Street. You’ve some crumbs on the collar of your jumper. It’s been a trying day as you’ve ran your hands through your hair repeatedly. Or that can also be because Sherlock couldn’t keep his hands to himself, and has given you quite a snog before Arthur arrived, judging by the blond hair clinging on the shoulder of my brother’s shirt.” John couldn’t help it; he looks at Sherlock’s shirt, and yup, there it is. He blushes. “How is the relationship going, by the way? I take it you’ve relinquished the bedroom upstairs back to Mrs. Hudson? You must be quite a man, Dr. Watson, if Sherlock is taking the time to put away his equipment, rather haphazardly, I’m afraid. His microscope is tilted, and his test tube holder is in with the dirty dishes. Probably because you were coming home and he was running late with his experiments. By the faint acerbic smell that wafts through the open door and out to the staircase, I would say that it’s the kind of experiment you would not agree with. Possibly something that involves chemicals, and not body parts. Do I pass muster?”

John looks at Sherlock to see his boyfriend looking away, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks. “Wow. That’s…wow.”

“But…but you’re a professor,” Morgana says. “Why aren’t you a detective like Mr. Holmes?”

“Don’t like it.” Merlin shrugs. “Now that we’ve established that we do not need Sherlock, let’s go. Dr. Watson, I apologize for not meeting you under better circumstance. Sherlock, we’ll be on our way.”

“But—“ Morgana speaks up.

“I’ll take the case,” Sherlock declares, making Merlin sigh.

“No, you’re not. I’m already on the case,” the younger Holmes insists.

“Come now, dear brother, you don’t even know what the case is.”

“Arthur will tell me back at the hotel.”

“Why not stay for dinner? We’ll tell you right now.”

“Sherlock—“

“I haven’t seen you in years, Merlin. The least you can do is spend some time with me before going back to Cardiff. More importantly, before Mr. Pendragon proposes.”

“Sherlock!” Merlin glares at his brother.

“How’d you—?” Arthur looks from Merlin to Sherlock, then back to Merlin. “You knew? Oh my god. You knew I was going to propose?” Merlin says nothing as he looks at the floor. “Great. That’s just bloody fantastic. Months of planning and sneaking and asking Leon to keep the ring because I didn’t want you to find it…Great.”

“Arthur, look, it doesn’t matter.”

“And, I daresay that this case is interesting,” Sherlock says, “And I’d like to visit Cambridge, haven’t been there since I finished my studies. Would be nice to see the old place again.”

Merlin pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Fine,” he states in between gritted teeth.

“Great. Who’s up for some takeaway?” Sherlock asks, looking at each of them in turn.

This would be interesting indeed.

 

# Getting to Know Each Other

 

As they wait for takeaway, John goes to prepare tea for their guests. A minute after, Merlin joins him, sliding the door shut behind him.

“You’re good for him, you know,” Merlin states as he washes some mugs for their use.

John looks up from the tin of tea. “Really?”

Merlin nods and smiles. “He’s gentled, I suppose. He’s even taken to cleaning up his equipment. Used to drive Mummy mad.”

“Drives me mad as well. And you and Mr. Pendragon?”

The door slides open. “Arthur, please,” Arthur says, closing the door again. “And I think we’re alright. Although I might have to reconsider some things due to some new developments.”

Merlin shakes his head. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you, Arthur.”

“How’d you know I was here? Last we talked, you were still in Harvard, giving your seminars,” Arthur asks.

“I called your secretary yesterday to ask you for a lift from the airport, who said you went to Cambridge. I couldn’t get a hold of you on the phone, so I called George, but he said you weren’t there. Then I tracked you on your GPS. Then, I went here. Satisfied?”

“You knew I was going to propose?” Merlin groans at that. “You knew. I mean, I knew you were a genius. You barely studied and yet you graduated at the top of your class on both majors.” A pause. “Have you always been able to do it?”

“Do what?”

“Deduce.”

“Does it matter?”

A pause, before Arthur says, “It does now.”

“Yes, I suppose. It’s not really something that I can turn on and off. I see…”

“Everything,” John supplies, remembering how Sherlock explained it. _I see everything, John. Everything, all at once._

Merlin looks at him, surprised, then he nods, drying the mugs slowly with a kitchen towel. “And all the information just stays there. I can’t help it.”

And John sees it, the way that Merlin’s shoulders sometimes droop, as if he has a burden too heavy to carry. Or the way his eyes jump all over the place, seeing every equipment or appliance or plate or dirty spoon. He’s just like Sherlock and Mycroft, and he hates it.

“You’ve hidden it for years,” Arthur remarks.

“I didn’t,” Merlin corrects his boyfriend, and John notes a certain bite in his tone. “ _I just learned how to keep my mouth shut_. Do you think I want this? Do you think I like knowing things about people they don’t really want you to know? As soon as I met other children, I knew it’s unusual. I grew up thinking that I was a freak, okay? You don’t know what’s it’s like. But I’ve made peace with it, and learned how to shut up.”

Arthur sucks in a breath, approaching Merlin from behind. John is already thinking of a strategic retreat as Arthur gives Merlin a hug. “Sorry. I…You’re right. I don’t have the faintest idea of what it’s like.”

Luckily, the kettle whistles, prompting John and Merlin to continue making the tea.

“So,” John says as they go back to the sitting room to serve the tea. Sherlock is still in his chair while Morgana is looking at the books in the shelves. “Are you the last Holmes brother, or shall we prepare ourselves for more?” he asks Merlin.

Merlin grins. “I’m the last, I promise. Our births are so far apart, I suspect our parents have had enough and had wanted to enjoy the rest of their years not taking care of small children.”

They retell the case to Merlin as they eat. The youngest Holmes has been on loan to Harvard for the past couple of months, giving a series of lectures on Vivaldi and some scheduled shows with the orchestra as a conductor, keeping him from being updated about Dr. Pendragon. Dr. Merlin Holmes, as it turns out, is a Professor of Music in Cardiff University, a cellist, and a conductor. And he’s also funny, easy to smile, and more sociable than Sherlock.

Much to the older Holmes’ irritation, if the frequent eye rolls from Sherlock are any indication.

“Thank you for dinner, Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes,” Morgana says as they put on their coats to leave.

“Yes, thank you,” Arthur concurs. “When will you be arriving in Cambridge? So that I can set you up in a hotel.”

To John’s astonishment, it is Merlin who answers. “I’m sure Sherlock can take care of the minor details. He’ll just call us.”

Sherlock doesn’t reply, making Arthur look at the brothers who are currently staring each other down.

“Right. Well, looking forward to it. John, Mr. Holmes, we’ll take our leave.”

With that, Merlin and the Pendragons leave the flat.

 

# Meeting Dr. Uther Pendragon

 

“Sherlock, we can’t just drop in!” John exclaims.

“Of course we can,” Sherlock snorts as he strides down the hall to Dr. Pendragon’s office. They’re in Cambridge, going straight to the university after calling Arthur to tell him that they’ve arrived, only stopping by the hotel to check in and drop off their bags.

“What possible excuse do we have for calling?”

Sherlock stops by an alcove to look at John. “George’s notes. Also, he had an episode last Saturday, from what the young Ms. Pendragon reported. I’m assuming that he’s a little hazy about the details whenever such instances occur. If we insist that he himself called for us last Friday, and that we are here by appointment, I hardly think that he’ll venture to contradict us.” Sherlock resumes walking. “Ah, it’s eleven. He’ll be stopping by his office before his next class.”

John follows Sherlock to Dr. Pendragon’s office. The door is opened by a tall man with a serious, but not unkind, face. From what John can tell, there is no sign of his reported eccentricities in his manner or appearance. He looks just like what any ordinary lecturer does, save for intense, clever eyes that look deep into you.

“Sit down, gentlemen,” Dr. Uther Pendragon says, gesturing to the two seats in front of his desk before taking his own chair. “What can I do for you?”

Sherlock smiles. “That’s what I wanted to ask you, Doctor.”

“To me? What are you talking about?”

I heard from a second person that Dr. Pendragon of the University of Cambridge has need of my services. Perhaps there’s been a mistake.”

“Indeed!” Dr. Pendragon suddenly stands up, his hands leaning on the desk, and with a malicious gleam in his eyes. “May I ask who your informant was?”

“I’m afraid that the matter is confidential. If there has been a mistake, there is no harm done. I can only express my regret.”

“Please, I’d like to get to the bottom of this. Have you any correspondence, email, or letter about this matter?” Dr. Pendragon asks, seemingly leaning closer across the desk to their side.

“None.”

“Surely you’re not saying that I was the one who called you?” the physiologist asks, expression going from disbelief to something nasty.

“Of course not.”

“Of course,” Dr. Pendragon agrees. “Why don’t we asks someone who knows? George!”

The door to the right opens, revealing a short man with a bland face. “Yes, professor?”

Uther Pendragon walks to stand by George. “This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, from London. They are under the impression that I am in need of their assistance, and that they have been called to Cambridge. You handle all my correspondence. Do you have a note or an email going out to Mr. Holmes?”

The TA flushes, but shakes his head. “No, sir.”

Dr. Pendragon glares at George before turning back to John and Sherlock. “Now, Mr. Holmes, it seems to me that your presence here is a very questionable one.”

Sherlock shrugs. “I’m afraid that a mistake has been made. I do believe, however, that we’re done here.” The detective stands and John follows suit. “Again, my apologies for the trouble.”

“Hardly enough, Mr. Holmes!” Uther Pendragon screams at them, his face purpling with rage. “Do you think me an idiot?! You can hardly get out of this as easy as that!”

Dr. Pendragon steps forward, and John knows that they’ll have to fight their way out, but then George steps in between Sherlock and the physiologist, raising his hands in a pacifying manner. “Dr. Pendragon! Consider your position! Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson are well-known men, all across Britain and beyond! You cannot possibly treat them with such discourtesy!”

As if by magic, Dr. Pendragon turns and walks back to his desk. He is still glaring at Sherlock and John, although he nods at George, sulkily. George opens the door for us, and says, “So sorry that you had to travel all the way here, Mr. Holmes. I hope we can put this incident past us.”

Sherlock nods, “Of course. Thank you. We’ll see ourselves out.”

 

\----------==========----------

 

“You did what?” Merlin shouts at his older brother. He arrived at their hotel room with Arthur in tow, Morgana staying in London with a few friends.

Sherlock looks at the ceiling. “Oh, calm down, dear brother! Everything’s alright. We got out fine.”

“Funny enough, Sherlock, I don’t care about you. You can fake die or get shot whenever you want. I’m more concerned with Dr. Pendragon,” Merlin hisses.

“I agree, Mr. Holmes, because you just made my father suspicious.”

Merlin raises his hands in defeat. “Apparently, two years of hide and seek took a whole chunk of your brain. Dr. Watson, I suggest you break up with my brother before he does something even more idiotic, like forget that you actually are together.”

Sherlock irritably sits down on the bed, making John laugh. “Oddly enough, he’s already done that.”

“And you still stay with him?” Merlin raises an eyebrow. “My, my, it must be true love.”

John laughs louder.

“If you two are quite finished?” Sherlock says, glaring at his brother. “Perhaps the intrusion was crude, but it gave me the physical contact I wanted. I needed to see for myself what makes him _tick._ Frankly, he struck me as having a clear and logical brain, although he’s quite explosive, from the short time we were there.”

“Sherlock, a detective just dropped in on him. Of course, he’ll be explosive about it.” John tells his boyfriend.

Sherlock waves a hand. “The point is, every nine days, the professor takes something that alters his behavior. Perhaps alcohol, but I’m leaning towards drugs. Drugs he can keep in his locked box. Then, his already aggressive behavior is intensified. He first used this drug in Prague, and someone from London is supplying him with more.”

“How can you be so sure of that?” Arthur asks.

“The letters,” Merlin says.

Sherlock nods. “Yes. I texted one of my Homeless Network right after we left your father. It turns out, your father has been secretly corresponding with a Bohemian man named Dorak. Dorak frequents Prague, and your father’s visit coincides with his. They were both in Prague for two weeks, and arrived in London an hour apart.”

“And now?” Arthur demands. “I mean, what about the dog, the creeping man in the corridor, the face in the window?”

“Now,” Merlin says, “we’ll just have to wait until the next incident. It takes nine days, as Sherlock has said. My brother and John will go back to London tomorrow, and return on the 25th.”

“I expect you and my brother to be there,” Sherlock confirms. “We’ll need all the able-bodied men we can get.” They nod. “And make an excuse to stay in the house and not in some hotel. Arthur, perhaps you can say that you’re only visiting your father or something of the sort?”

Arthur nods. “I can arrange it.”

“Very well. If you would excuse us, I’d like to shag John now.”

Merlin groans as John flushes. “God, Sherl, you’re such a child!”

 

# The Conclusion to the Problem

 

“He received another letter today,” Arthur immediately reports once he and Merlin entered John and Sherlock’s hotel room.

Sherlock steeples his hands underneath his chin and smiles. “Yes. I believe tonight, we’ll see the conclusion to our problem. Oh, this is marvelous!”

Arthur looks affronted at Sherlock’s enthusiasm, but Merlin says, “Don’t mind him, Arthur. He’s…broken in the head. He’s never been good with societal cues.”

Sherlock ignores his brother, and just texts someone instead. Once that’s done, he turns back to Arthur. “If my deductions are correct, something will happen tonight, so you and Merlin should stay awake. If you hear him outside your door, don’t interrupt him, just follow him where he goes. Discretely, of course. John and I won’t be far off. Where does he keep the key to the box?”

They all look at Arthur. “On a chain around his neck. He never takes it off, according to Morgana and George.”

“Hmm. We need that key. Or we can just pick the lock. Anyway, that doesn’t matter,” Sherlock states, waving a hand. “Just do as I’ve instructed. If the cycle holds, then the professor will be at his worst tonight. The fact that these strange symptoms happened right after he came from Prague, that someone from London is mailing him packets, and that he’s _received_ a packet today all lead to one thing. What kind of drug he takes and why he takes it is still unknown. However, he takes it religiously, resulting in this nine-day cycle that intrigued me right from the start. Either way, we’ll see you both tonight.”

 

\----------==========----------

 

John follows Sherlock across the grounds of the Pendragon house. It’s about ten in the evening, the skies are cloudy, and the only lights are coming from the streetlamps. Sherlock has his mobile open to a map that Arthur sent of the area. They choose to hide behind some trees with a clear view of the front door. They wait for a while, John and Sherlock content to not talk despite of the silence. They’re both excited and full of anticipation, and they can’t afford to miss a thing.

It’s about midnight when the front door opens and the lamps illuminate Dr. Pendragon. The professor is standing upright in his dressing gown, looking up and down the road. For a few minutes everything seems normal, but then he crouches down on the ground, exactly as what Arthur has described.

He started moving along the ground, sometimes skipping and jumping as if overflowing with energy. After roaming the front yard, he disappears around the corner. Sherlock and John run after him, keeping their footsteps soft. They reach the front door just as Arthur and Merlin run out of the house, with the intention of following the professor as well. They all nod at each other, and quietly jog towards the other side of the house where the professor disappeared to.

The skies parted and they all see the professor, climbing up the ivy-covered wall of the back of his house, jumping and swinging and springing from branch to branch, as if he’s used to climbing walls since the beginning of time. They all watch with fascination as the professor swings around, at times thumping on the darkened windows, sometimes jumping on one foot to the next. After a while, he tires of his aimless game, and swings back down to the ground, employing his crouching position again. Using his hands and feet, he creeps across the backyard to where Hengroen is barking madly.

The dog is chained to the wall, furious barks growing louder at the sight of his master. Dr. Pendragon squats down in front of Hengroen, deliberately just out of reach of the wolfhound. He collects some pebbles from the ground, then without hesitation, starts throwing them one by one at the dog. It’s a cruel practice.

“What the fuck?” Arthur whispers, voice low enough that only they could hear.

Hengroen is furious now, body straining against his chains, sometimes jumping to reach his master but always held back by his lead. Hands empty of pebbles, Dr. Pendragon grabs a short branch and starts poking the dog, increasing the wolfhound’s fury. The professor is intentionally and cruelly enraging his dog.

The barking and jumping continues, and John is about to ask Sherlock if they should step in, when the dog’s collar breaks and the dog finally catches its prey.

They all run quickly as the professor and the dog wrestle on the ground, the dog roaring with rage while the professor screams. Hengroen has his teeth deep into Dr. Pendragon’s neck by the time they reached the two.

“Hengroen! Down!” Arthur commands the dog, who recognizes his young master and immediately lets go of the professor.

Sherlock and Merlin carry Dr. Pendragon into the house, which wakes up one of the staff. John acts quickly, asking for a medical kit, some towels, and clean water. John dressed the wound with Merlin’s help, who, apparently, has a medical degree along with his doctorate in Music. The dog’s teeth nearly reached the carotid, and the hemorrhage is severe, but they manage to close the wounds and stop the bleeding. When the danger has passed, John gives the professor antibiotics and painkillers to keep him asleep.

John looks at his companions before glancing back at the professor. “I strongly suggest that we take him to the hospital. They could better disinfect the wound, and give him rabies shots.”

“No,” Arthur’s answer is severe. “Do you realize what this will do to my father’s reputation? A tenured professor taking unknown drugs—god, this will ruin him. No. He stays here, we keep him safe. And Hengroen is safe, we make sure he regularly gets his shots. Isn’t that right, MacPhail?”

The staff addressed looks up and nods. “Yes, sir. Anthony takes the dog himself.”

“Alright, Arthur. Alright. Then, let’s hope we can contain this,” Merlin replies. “Can you get me the key from your father’s neck? I think it’s about time we find out what he’s been taking, don’t you?”

Arthur hands the key to Merlin, and they all go downstairs to the professor’s study. Arthur points at the ornate box sitting on the mantel behind the professor’s desk.

Inside is quite a collection of letters from _A. Dorak_ with a mailing address in Commercial Road, London. John can clearly see the cross mark underneath the stamps and the shoddy handwriting. Merlin shifts the envelopes a bit to reveal a couple of phials, one full and one empty, and a syringe. Finally, they see a letter postmarked from Prague, in a cursive handwriting different from A. Dorak’s.

“Here it is,” Merlin whispers.

It’s from a man named H. Lowenstein, who states that the langur serum should be taken carefully due to its inconclusive results and various side effects.

“’As I have explained to you, the serum of anthropoid would have been better, but I had not specimen available,’” Merlin reads. “’All I ask is that you make weekly reports and then send them to Dorak so that I may include them in my findings. Hope you achieve what you’re aiming for.’”

Lowenstein. John has heard of that name before. “Hengist Lowenstein, Austrian scientist,” John exclaims. “He’s—he’s been researching for something he called ‘rejuvenescence.’”

Sherlock frowns. “A what?”

“Rejuvenescence. He’s looking for an elixir of eternal life. Last I heard, he was in the Himalayas, studying monkeys.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “A langur, to be precise, according to this letter.”

“A langur,” Arthur whispers. “My father has been injecting himself with the essence of a langur? For what purpose?” he demands.

“For his very beautiful and very young fiancée,” answers Sherlock. “Think about it. He’s looking for a serum for rejuvenescence, an elixir of eternal life. He’s head over heels in love with Ms. Nimueh McDonaghue, but he clearly knows that his old age is against him. As you’ve said quite plainly, Miss Mcdonaghue is not without eligible suitors. So he goes to Prague to talk to an obscure scientist who can give him what he needs: a serum that will make him feel young again. Of course, he knew about the dangers, but he didn’t care. Hengroen, it seems, sensed the transformation first, probably because of his actions or maybe because he smells different. Dogs have an astute sense of smell. Either way, the dog didn’t like it and no longer recognized his master. So he attacked the professor, repeatedly.

“I’ve already contacted Lestrade in London to tell him about Dorak. I assume he will be picked up and taken into custody immediately. As for Lowenstein, I’ll contact Mycroft. He’ll never release this serum again.”

“Sherlock, I’ve told you, I don’t want this getting out,” Arthur’s eyes drill into Sherlock’s, but the detective is unperturbed.

“No worries, Arthur. Mycroft will make sure that the Czech government won’t connect Lowenstein with your father at all.”

Arthur nods.

“Very well. We shall head back to London at first light. Merlin, Arthur, congratulations on your engagement.”

John is about to ask how he knows, but thinks better of it. He shakes hands with Merlin and Arthur, before following him out into the night.

 

\----------==========----------

 

John is woken by warm lips on his neck. He smiles, despite knowing that it’s still too early, and he has time before his shift at the clinic. But it’s Sherlock and his damned sleeping pattern. That brain of his never stops working, keeping him awake at night. If Sherlock hadn’t been an addict in the past, John would have resorted to drugging the detective for a chance of a complete night of rest.

“Sherlock…”

“Wake up, John.”

“It’s too early, you bastard.”

A gentle suck on his jaw. “Wake up. I’ll make it worth your while.”

He grins. Bastard. _Complete and utter bastard._ He turns his head and kisses Sherlock on the lips, tongues meeting and dancing in and out of their mouths.

Then, Sherlock’s phone rings.

The detective frowns as he grabs his phone. He taps the phone and puts it against his ear. “Arthur?”

The voice from the phone is tinny, but John hears every single word. It’s full of fear and pain. “Sherlock, Merlin’s gone. Somebody took him.”


End file.
